As soon as I walked into the room I saw her perched in a Queen Anne chair. She wore a dark skirt, a blazer, and a pearl set that made me feel underdressed in my jeans and sweater. She lowered a china teacup and peered at me with bright, dark eyes, like a bird surveying its surroundings.
"You must be Tanner's girlfriend." Her voice was more welcoming than I'd expected. "Come here and let me have a look at you."
Tanner and I both walked over to where she sat. Her gaze followed me, appraising me like I was something to be bought.
"Very pretty," she said. "You're a student?"
"Yes, Ma'am." I'd never said the word "Ma'am" before in my life, but it somehow popped out, extracted by her presence.
"Do you get good grades?"
"I try." Probably not hard enough to impress her, but I wasn't about to admit that.
Tanner leaned toward me, brushing his hand against mine. "Grandma, you're meeting Chelsea, not hiring her for a job."
The Grandmother raised a hand and swatted away his objections as though shooing a fly. Without taking her eyes off me she asked, "And what field are you going into?"
"I haven't decided. I like fashion design."
This apparently was the wrong thing to say. She cocked her head and made a disgruntled coughing sound. "Oh, you're one of those girls who spend all day shopping at the mall."
"No," I said, "but there are so many girls who do, fashion designers will always be in demand."
The Grandmother laughed, conceding the point. "That's the type of thinking that makes money, at least if you know your area of expertise. Tell me, if I wanted to dress down this skirt what would I wear it with?"
Tanner said, "Grandma—" but I held up my hand to stop his protest. I knew the answer to this question.
"You could trade out the blazer for a twin set or a ruffled blouse. Something that doesn't button up to the neck. You'd also want to replace the pearls with a silver chain."
"Not gold?"
"Your skin tone looks better with cool colors."
"What brand of clothing would you suggest? Escada? Dolce & Gabbana?"
"The designer labels are nice, but you can find stuff that's just as well made for way cheaper."
The Grandmother smiled at me and nodded in Tanner's direction. "She's talented and thrifty. Keep a hold of her. She's going places." She lifted her tea cup again, signaling my interview was over. She took a sip, then raised her voice slightly and called, "Why don't you follow your brother's example, Richard, and find yourself a nice girl like this?"
I hadn't realized that anyone else was in the room and now I turned in the direction she was looking.
Lying down on the couch so that he blended in with the throw pillows was Rick.
Chapter 12
Rick? Richard was Rick? Tanner was Rick's brother?
Rick sat up; his eyes focused on me angrily."There's a thought," he called back. "Are there any more at home like you, Chelsea?"
It didn't seem possible that this was happening, and yet it was. Rick was here. Tanner had never told me his last name. Apparently it was Debrock.
Rick looked different than usual. He had none of his earrings or eyebrow studs in. He wore an unremarkable pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Even his hair was almost a normal shade of blond. Too bleached, but within the shades of actual hair color.
"Rick." It was all I could say, and I barely managed that. The word came out half strangled.
"It's Richard," The Grandmother said. "He was named after my husband and my husband always went by Richard." She took another sip from her cup. "Nicknames are so vulgar."
Rick rolled his eyes, but didn't seem interested in fighting this point.
I tried to keep my voice even, unaffected. To Tanner I said, "You didn't tell me Rick—Richard—was your brother."
"Didn't I?" He looked genuinely surprised by this fact. "I thought you knew the night we met at his party, but then you left so quickly, maybe it never came up."
"I did leave quickly," I said, glancing at Rick.
Rick shrugged, "Well, my music isn't for everybody."
I didn't know what to say, didn't know how much of our relationship to divulge. Would Rick tell his brother and grandmother that I was the one who'd inspired his anti-cheerleader songs? Should I?
The Grandmother took another sip of her drink and looked at me. "You don't like Richard's music?"
I didn't hesitate. "No, I've never considered electric guitar to be real music. Classical guitar, now that's a different story."
It was perhaps an underhanded thing to do, but Rick deserved it. And it had the immediate desired effect. The Grandmother nodded and put down her cup. "You see, Richard, it isn't because I'm old. There is simply a difference between good music and bad—between melody and discordance—between depth of voice and that awful stuff you insist on singing." She waved a hand in my direction. "Even young people can see it."
I smiled over at Rick. He glared back at me. "So you like classical guitar, Chelsea? And who exactly are your favorite classical guitarists?"
I didn't have to answer because The Grandmother wasn't through with her remarks. She went on and on about how if Rick wanted a career in music he ought to take it seriously enough to become trained.
Tanner and I sat down on the couch across from Rick, and Tanner sent me apologetic looks because his grandmother was delivering this huge lecture.
I enjoyed it though. I nodded along to every point she made.
When The Grandmother finally paused long enough for Rick to get a word in he said, "Yeah, all that's great, but Juilliard doesn't train people to sing rock. Just opera."
"Exactly," The Grandmother said. "Rock isn't serious music."
Rick glanced at me and paused. I could almost see him mentally rearranging his argument to incorporate the strategy I'd used. "But rock music sells. You don't see people packing into stadiums every weekend to hear operas."
The Grandmother drew her brows together, factoring this new aspect into the discussion. After all, one did have to take money into account. Then she shook her head. "But most rock musicians will never succeed. They'll spend their lives wasting away, playing bars and free outdoor concerts. If you went to Juilliard you would at least have something to fall back on. You could teach music."
I thought of Rick with a mustache and tie like Mr. Metzerol's. It made me smile.
Rick leaned forward, his hands lifted, and his expression intent. For once, he actually cared about what he was saying, and I felt for him. Momentarily I rooted for him to win this argument. "Look Grandma, if you could just hear my band—"
She folded her hands across her lap. "You gave me the Deadbeats CD. I haven't been able to get farther than halfway into the first song."
"No, if you could only see me sing and watch how people react to my music. My band can make it. It's going to take some time; it always does. But we'd be able to pay you back for the equipment and give you a good return on your investment."
So there was more to it than just a difference of opinion about classic guitar. Rick wanted his grandmother to help finance his band.